


Please, Call Me

by PugSempai



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Graphic Depictions of Cooking, Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, M/M, Not So Graphic Depictions of Sex, Pretty much exclusively just human names, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:02:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29530971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PugSempai/pseuds/PugSempai
Summary: Winters take a toll on Arthur, though a chance encounter in the break room during a conference may provide a suitable solution.
Relationships: England/North Italy (Hetalia)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Please, Call Me

**Author's Note:**

> Despite having been in the Hetalia fandom some ten or so odd years ago, this is my first ever fic for it! I rediscovered this fandom, hilariously just on my own without knowledge of a new season. So here we are. Complete with cringy (but not google translated!) Italian.
> 
> Arthur is indeed a trans man in this fic but as graphic sex scenes and I don't really get along no specific words are used for either of them, honestly.

Arthur's in his own little world, blankly staring at the pot of instant noodles he'd been making for lunch. The conference was wearing him out and his attention span was unfortunately suffering because of it. It didn't help that it was Winter and as such his home was bitterly cold. Leaning him in a similar state. As such he didn't hear the rapidly approaching sound of dress shoes on linoleum until a hand reached past him to turn the stove off, the heat radiating from the tanned skin snapping him from his thoughts.

"There's your problem, Inghilterra. You're off somewhere else when you cook!"  
The light teasing voice of Feliciano comes from somewhere behind him as those tan slender hands take the pot and spoon from him, stirring and going for the little seasoning packet. The places where their hands brush burns in the most pleasant way. Arthur watches a little dazed as the younger Italy brother rips the package with his teeth and shakes half in before rummaging around in the cabinets. Admittedly he'd never had too many one in ones with the man, only vaguely aware that he's a little older than himself. His brain comes back to him.  
"I thought the Mediterranean Group was still…"  
Feliciano wrinkles his nose, going for a bowl after having added some garlic and soy sauce to the noodles.  
"It's all preservation and restoration talk. Lovino handles the logistics of that, I just do the artwork. So I get to have lunch~" He pours the noodles in the bowl, opening the fridge. "Don't tell Kiku." His tongue peeks out of his mouth as he wiggles a little container filled with pork belly. Adding a couple slices to Arthur's meal.

"Shouldn't you be in meetings as well?"  
"No, all my mandatories are done for the day. Which is just as well, I can't think in the winter." He says, trailing after Feliciano who sets the bowl down before going back to the fridge to fish out his own lunch. "You should come stay in Rome with my brother and I then." He calls from the fridge. Arthur's staring, dazed, at his lunch when a canned coffee comes into view. "The warmth might do you some good, Signore Kirkland.” Feliciano winks. “I know tea is your thing but-"

"No this is very kind thank you Mr. Vargas." He says, taking the slim can and cracking it open as Feliciano sits down across from him and unwraps his food. A sandwich. Arthur can't help but stare. It looks divine, he can't actually recall the last time he'd had anything one of the brothers had made. A thin loaf stuffed simply with meat, cheese, tomato, and some kind of greens. He’d bet a great deal of money there was some kind of pesto on it, or simply drizzled with olive oil. He wishes that he could cook like that. Somehow even something so simple as a sandwich went wrong. Arthur, still staring, startles when the bowl is slowly slid away from him, the sandwich replacing it.  
“Oh you don’t-”  
“I think you’ve earned a taste of a warmer climate.”  
The warm, honest smile he gets shakes something up in his core and he feels a little flush rise to his cheeks, picking up the sandwich with a quiet thank you. He bites into it and it’s just as delicious as he’d expected it to be. Arthur should be jealous, but he’s too cold and hungry to really have those emotions at the moment, focusing on the flavors and filling his stomach. The Brit is vaguely aware of Feliciano chatting with him, or rather at him, as he slurps down the noodles. Just as happy to be eating that as he would the sandwich he’d given away. They sit there Arthur letting Feliciano chat, sipping their canned coffee and it occurs to him that the man isn’t nearly as dimwitted as he’d thought. He feels a little bad, especially when he’s talking so expressively and intelligently about the process of restoring old art. So engrossed in the explanation, the pair startles when Feliciano’s phone starts to ring.  
“Pronto.” 

Arthur quietly sips the rest of the coffee, one of Feliciano’s hands is drumming on the table as he talks and he’s reminded of where those hands touched him gently touching one hand to the other. He peeks up at Feliciano who’s absorbed in the phone call. Likely talking to his brother by the way he’s both trying to argue and placate the caller. Biting a lip he slowly and carefully reaches forward until the tips of his fingers are just barely brushing the side of his hand. Arthur sucks in a small breath, his skin is so warm and he’s gripped by a need to feel it against him. Feliciano’s call ends and he jerks his hand away, looking down in shame.  
“I’m very sorry, Signore Kirkland. My brother he’s eeeeeh….” Feliciano’s face shifts into a few expressions, but Arthur is more than aware of how the older brother can be. “I have to go handle him.” 

Feliciano makes his way towards the exit of the cafeteria/dining area and Arthur panics for a second, not wanting to let that warmth escape. So he stands, calling out for the Italian to wait as he grabs the edge of his sleeve. The other man pauses, looking at him, and his face lights up red again. He can’t recall having ever seen the younger Italy with both his eyes open. They’re gorgeous, rich brown and _warm_ and full of confusion and just a little concern. And when he realizes what he’s doing he let’s go of the sleeve of Feliciano’s suit jacket.  
“U-um. Do. Do you want to visit my home and… maybe teach me to cook?”  
Feliciano considers this for a moment.  
“Sure! I can arrange for some time off. I’ll contact you~”  
Feliciano takes the hand that grabbed his sleeve and gives it a squeeze, warmth radiating up from Arthur’s hand to the rest of him.  
“Yeah… sounds good. I’ll see you around, Mr. Vargas.”  
“Please, call me Feliciano~ Ciao~”  
And just like that, Arthur is left waving dumbly at Feliciano’s back as he jogs in the direction of the meeting rooms. 

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ 

The plans had been made quickly and efficiently, which was surprising as most of the effort had come from the others end. They'd come to the agreement that they'd each pick a few of their traditional dishes, it'd be more fun that way, for the week after the plans were finalized Arthur, struck with anxiety, had spent the next week pouring over his cookbooks and cleaning his home. The whole time the bitter cold nagging at him, making him slower as his joints ached. When not cleaning or trying to select recipes or working, he was curled up in his bed, trying desperately to stay warm as visions of the other man floated through his head. Curled up with him on the couch, in front of a fireplace, even in his bed. Nothing sordid, at least that what he tells himself, just the two entwined in an embrace. Sometimes nude sometimes not. Those warm hands running themselves over Arthur’s body as he sighs pleasantly, drinking in soft praises in English and Italian. Feliciano’s hand slipping lower and lower until… He’s far away in one of these fantasies as he prepares tea in preparation for Feliciano’s arrival only snapped out of the daydream by the doorbell. 

He rushes to the door, taking one last moment to inspect himself in the mirror before opening the door, absorbing the image of Feliciano in front of him, bundled up against the cold and the wet of London in the heart of winter. He’s got a suitcase and a cooler and Arthur’s pleasantly amused at the memory of the man repeatedly asking if he was sure it was okay to bring along some of his own ingredients. Arthur had been okay with that, it’d save him a trip out of the house and he’s quite sure as diverse as London is it wouldn’t beat the quality of ingredients from the direct source. He’s also got a kerchief wrapped parcel and Arthur is immensely curious, allowing the man to step in and out of the cold. The wrapped item is set on his side table as he goes for the collar of Feliciano’s coat once the door is closed and helps him out of it.  
“Hope the trip over wasn’t terrible.” 

“No it was quite pleasant actually. I loved the ride through London, I really should visit more~” Feliciano is removing his scarf as Arthur stows the coat away in his closet.  
“You ought to come back in summer, can’t say the weather’s nicer but at least it’s not cold.”  
His guest laughs and Arthur fights blushing.  
“I should, shouldn’t I! Visit for a week again then whisk you off to Venice.”  
There’s something so very nice about that idea and he’s quite sure he’s over romanticizing the man’s words in his head. He looks over to him and nearly chokes, the skinny jeans and button up look is not anything he’d been expecting, especially as the other man rolls his sleeves up, revealing hairy forearms. Arthur stares blatantly before he shakes his head.  
“That sounds… lovely. I’d like that.”

He helps Feliciano with his bags, getting him settled in in the guest room, chatting the entire time. Arthur is half listening, still paying attention to the subtle warmth that radiates from Feliciano as well as his outfit. He is a very attractive man, and Arthur’s struck by just how long it’s been since he’s been in any kind of relationship. Physical or romantic. Once Feliciano is settled in, he sighs, contentedly, and claps his hands together before wrapping Arthur into a tight hug. The warmth is immediate and he’s hit with the light scent of cologne. Did the other man really put this much thought into this visit? Unconsciously drawing himself in closer. It smells like lilac and vanilla.  
“Grazie por l’invito, Arthur.”  
Ah right, he’s not just enjoying one of Feliciano’s warm embraces.  
“Oh don’t mention it. Thank you for agreeing to put up with teaching me.” He responds, trying not to sound like he’s a million miles away in a field of flowers. “I’ve got tea prepared.”  
Feliciano releases him and somehow he’s colder than before.  
“Ah! That reminds me, the dish I brought with me, I made tiramisu~ I know it’s not a typical thing to have during tea, probably…”  
“Oh you really didn’t have to do that but… I wouldn’t lie if I said it’s been ages and I have a massive sweet tooth.” 

Nestled in Arthur’s library, the pair discusses the recipes they’ve chosen as Arthur pours the tea and Feliciano carefully cuts out squares of the dessert for them. Once the plate is set in front of him Arthur is very aware of the other man watching him as he picks up his fork to take a bite of the dish. His cheeks are a light pink as he chews and _oh_ he would kill to eat like this every day. It’s heavenly and this is arguably the best decision he’s ever made, to invite this man into his home. The cream is sweet and light, the ladyfingers are moist and soft with a delightful coffee flavor with just the hint of liqueur to it. He takes another bite and it’s just as good as the first and it’s going to be hard having the dish in his house and not eating the entire thing in one day. A warm hand slips over his, giving it a small squeeze and he looks over into his guests eager face.  
“Well?”  
“It’s… divine. I’ve had some good desserts before but this blows all that out of the water.” He says, setting his fork down to take a sip of his tea. Feliciano’s eyes light up with joy and something Arthur can’t quite read. “Did you use coffee liqueur?”  
“For the second layer of ladyfingers.” 

Arthur hums, setting his tea cup down and going back for the fork, suddenly aware that his hand hasn’t been released just yet. Should he say something? It’s so warm though… He doesn’t say anything, continuing to eat. Eventually the hand slips off of his and it leaves his hand so cold he’s a little shocked that when he looks at the hand it’s not blue at the tips. They chat a little more, Feliciano finally settling on not letting the seafood (!!) he’d brought with him sitting too long. And Arthur quietly admits he’d really just like to know how to make an English breakfast.  
“I know it’s just frying things but it turns out charcoal everytime. Even when I’m not half asleep in the morning.” He’s hiding his face behind a hand. “It’d just be nice to be able to make it when it’s my turn to have my brothers over for breakfast. Instead of having Seamus or Callum take over.” Arthur slumps in his chair, both hands hiding his face now. “It’s so embarrassing. It’s like the one thing I’m well known for other than fish and chips.”  
“That’s very sweet of you, Arthur. I’d love to help you perfect that, and I’ll admit I’m curious myself. My breakfasts are usually dry toast and a cafe latte. Usually running from the house because Vino’s shut off my alarm clock _again._ ” Feliciano laughs and Arthur peeks through his fingers, there’s a little pink dusting tan freckled cheeks and lord help _him._

“Brothers huh.” Arthur draws his hands down his face, smiling a little and even letting out a little laugh of his own. The two spend a little more time chatting, eventually moving into the kitchen, Feliciano taking the time to show Arthur how to properly clean clams in between anecdotes about their respective older brothers. Arthur is having a hard time keeping his heart from skipping every time his hands are cupped and guided, Feliciano close to his back and the man really does seem a lot shorter when he’s goofing off and acting like a ditz huh? At one point a chin is gently rested against the top of his head and Arthur’s nearly convinced this is heaven as he’s directed to fill a large pot with water and start it boiling. He wonders a little if it’s on purpose, how often the other man tries to touch him in any little way. A hand on the small of his back as he explains something, brushing his hands over Arthur’s arms and hands as he reaches for something. It’s nice, if a little annoying in the way it sends Arthur millions of miles away, stripped and bare for those hands to brush wherever they pleased, chest, face, down his stomach, curled between his thighs- 

“Alright. Now the real cooking begins.” 

Arthur is directed to put a pan on the stove as Feliciano picks up the olive oil decanter and drizzles an amount that he says is about two tablespoons or so. It’s not too important as long as the clams aren’t swimming in it. Arthur dumps the clams into the pan, mesmerized with the smooth way Feliciano wipes the knife on his apron before smashing open a clove of garlic, plucking the clove from the skin and popping it into the pan. Arthur is handed the knife and he less than smoothly chops some parsley, courtesy of his own little herb garden, and puts that in the pan too as he directs the Italian to his drawer of kitchen towels. It’s wrapped around the handle and Arthur is shown how to shake the pan every so often as the clams cook.  
“Until they open.” 

Arthur keeps an eye on those as Feliciano pulls out a carefully wrapped package of pasta, talking about how it’s easy to make pasta from scratch but that’d be a whole week in itself. Best to shelve it for the summer. And he nods along dumbly, already eager for more visits and this one’s barely started. Once the package is set to the side, salt sprinkled into the water Feliciano moves the saucepan to one side and shows Arthur how to pluck the meat from the clams. Once again the taller man is smoother and all together more coordinated at it than he is, and for a moment he worries he’s going to be made fun of. But instead finds Felicano at his back once more, this time warm hands slide down from his shoulders to his wrists and hands, not breaking contact the whole time and he feels like his body is humming. Warm hands over his, puppeteering him on how to do it just as smoothly, warm breath in his ear as it’s explained in simpler terms for him. It’d be so easy to turn and bring their lips together, or for Feliciano to lean just that little bit further down and kiss his neck. He swallows thickly and focuses on the clams. 

Once they’re all shelled, Feliciano steps back, grabbing a sieve, holding it over a measuring cup as Arthur lifts the pan and pours the liquid into it, straining it to save for later. The pan back on the stove the oil decanter is handed to him this time, about four tablespoons, he doesn’t try to do it as smoothly as Feliciano. Knowing that’s a recipe for disaster, the second clove is peeled and sliced. There’s a pause and Feliciano goes for a second clove. Peeling and slicing that one too, glancing through his bangs at Arthur, a playful smile on his face as he scoops the slices of garlic expertly onto the knife and slides them into the pan. The sizzling and smell immediate and Arthur’s enraptured. 

“Are you having fun?” 

The question is unexpected and Arthur is taken aback momentarily before he smiles, wide and earnest, face a little flush as he nods and responds.  
“Yes, absolutely.”  
The smile he gets in response is so sweet and honest he’s nearly knocked back on his rear.  
“Good. Cooking shouldn’t be stressful, or a chore. If it’s fun and you enjoy what you’re doing, it can be incredibly rewarding and relaxing. Even if things don’t always turn out well. And what you said before, about wanting to cook breakfast for your brothers, that’s beautiful. One of the most Italian things I’ve heard anyone outside of my borders say.”  
The thought comes suddenly and Arthur blurts it out before he can stop himself.  
“You’re not actually stupid, are you?”  
He slaps his hands over his face to avoid seeing Felicano’s expression. Only to be surprised when the man starts laughing, loud and clear and genuinely amused.  
“What is the phrase? I’m not a doctor, but I play one on t.v.? It’s something like that. Everyone else is so serious all the time, even Vino! If I act silly and dumb, it breaks the tension and people smile. And that’s all I’m after really. To see everyone smile. So far, yours is the most beautiful. Sei bellissimo.”  
Arthur’s face is brilliantly red at the compliment. It’s said so easily and without the expectations of anything in return. His hands lower, over his mouth as he collects himself.  
“U-um… Thank you.” He laughs, in disbelief a little. “S-so, what’s next.” 

Feliciano’s expression is soft as he immediately launches back into it, directing Arthur to add the clam meat back in, along with the cooking liquid. He explains that a little bit of peperoncino could be added if you wanted a little kick, but they’re leaving it out this time. The pasta goes in the water and Arthur is told to stir it as the colander for draining the pasta is prepared. As well as tending to the clam mixture (sauce?). He feels floaty but manages to not drift off and ruin everything, a first for him when cooking and he’s quite proud. When directed, Arthur pours the pot of water into the colander in the sink, lifting it up and shaking it just a little before the spaghetti is deposited into the pan with the clams in it. He mixes the best he can until Feliciano asks if he can try something and he’s more than happy to hand the handle of the pan over, watching as the pasta is expertly tossed with the mixture one handedly, just by Feliciano moving the pan back and forth. Arthur claps just a little and Feliciano laughs and looks a little sheepish.  
“You did just fine, I may have wanted to show off a little.”  
“Consider me impressed.” 

Arthur fetches plates as a bottle of white wine is produced from Feliciano’s things. He plates up the pasta with some added parsley and when he looks up he’s frozen in place, blush still present on his cheeks deepening. Through the doorway to his dining room he can see Feliciano sinking his teeth into the bottle's cork and tugging it out. A simple gesture that he’s done many a time in his pirate days, but done with such an air of confidence that he can’t help but find it erotic. Especially as Feliciano smoothly twists his hand around to pour the wine into glasses. He picks up the plates and tries to walk into the dining room like he’s not about to crumple to the floor. Arthur manages to make it to the table, setting each plate in its spot before taking his seat and picking up his fork. Twirling some of the pasta around his fork he makes sure to get some of the clam meat in there as well before the whole thing goes into his mouth. His eyebrows raise, hand over his mouth as he chews, surprised that something he had a hand in cooking could actually taste good.  
“It’s good right? And simple.”  
He nods, swallowing.  
“I just… can’t believe I’ve even helped make this. It’s so good.” 

Felicano’s smile is proud and the two continue eating in a content silence. Once finished with the mean, the two clean up, Feliciano insisting upon helping despite being a guest. Citing the fact that he too had helped make the dinner. Plus it’ll go faster. The two wind up in the living room eventually as the sun has set, the temperature sinking even lower and Arthur reminded of just how cold and out of it he is. The sunshiny disposition of his houseguest making him forget for a bit how this season made him feel. They’re on the floor, leaning back against Arthur’s couch, glasses of wine in hand with the bottle on the table as Arthur’s fireplace roars. Back to the topic of restoration and preservation, Feliciano goes on about paint and tiles, occasionally going on an annoyed tangent about how some humans just don’t understand how to color match or some such thing. The wine disappears quickly, the two slowly drawing closer. Arthur emboldened to try and get some of that delicious warmth he keeps obsessing over. A comment is made and Arthur responds, what exactly is being said far from his mind as an arm goes around him, his hand on Feliciano’s leg, by the knee, but there none the less. Feliciano turns a little to face him, hand slipping from the couch to cup the back of Arthur’s neck, the conversation dying down as the two pause for a moment.

Then Feliciano tugs him in as he himself leans forward and their lips meet, Arthur inhaling sharply through his nose as heat floods his body. As pleasant as the mouth on his, moving slowly as a hand comes up to gently take his glass of wine from him. Placing it safely on the coffee table. Arthur cupping Felicano’s face in response, not wanting to let the heat go. They part for just a moment, looking at each other, breathing each other’s air until Feliciano’s other hand is coming back up to cup his face and they’re kissing again, eyes sliding shut as they lose themselves. Arms wrapping around each other as Arthur’s rocked back a little bit before he pushes back, slinging a leg over the other man’s legs as he settles into Feliciano’s lap, never stopping their kissing. A tongue brushes his lower lip and he’s more than happy to open his mouth and allow the kiss to be deepened, slipping his own into his guests mouth in return. Unsurprisingly he tastes like wine and their dinner, but there’s an underlying heat and warmth that Arthur chases desperately as hands run up and down his chest, back, arms, legs. 

Heat is pooling in his core and he rolls his hips down, groaning quietly into the kiss as Feliciano’s arousal presses against him. It’s been so so long and this man is so warm and inviting, Arthur sheds his cardigan, splaying hands under the open button down, taking his share of warm tanned skin and pert nipples through the undershirt. Thumbs brush over them as hands slide down his back to cup his rear and pull him against Feliciano again, the latter canting his hips up to meet him and the two gasp out moans. A hand untucks his shirt and slender fingers are slid under it, rubbing at his lower back before they go lower, teasing at the hem of his trousers. Daring to slide under them as Felicano’s other hand goes to the buckle of his belt, gripping it. A whisper against his lips.  
“Per favore, Arthur. Ho bisogno di te. Can I?”  
“Yes, please god yes, Feliciano. Have me.” 

It feels like it all happens at once, the hand at his front undoing his belt as the hand at his back slips into his pants, groping and squeezing before slipping even further down. There’s a little shuffling so they don’t knock into the coffee table as a pillow is slid under his head and shoulder and then that warmth is everywhere, Feliciano heavy between his legs. Hands undoing his clothes, roaming over each new exposed patch of skin, plucking at his nipples and running over scars, muscles, anything Feliciano can touch is not denied his attention, then those hot fingers are curling inside him and he arches his head back, mouth open in a gasp as he clutches Feliciano’s shoulders. A hot mouth meets his neck biting and sucking and that wet heat makes the same journey as the hands did, tongue tasting flesh and leaving nothing untouched. Every centimeter of skin is paid attention to and then that mouth joins the hands between his legs, licking and sucking until he’s trembling with hands clasped firmly in that head of auburn hair, mouth open and lax as waves and waves of heat pulse through his body. 

Hands hastily wiped on clothes travel back up his body as he catches his breath, fingers lacing together with his. He opens his eyes and when did the other undress? It doesn’t matter much as he squirms, his desire for warmth placated but not satisfied. Soon though, his desires are met as Feliciano enters him and it’s so much hotter than either hands or tongue, threatening to burn him up and take him apart and his back arches fully. Still so sensitive he feels like he’s coming apart at the seams in the best way, if he’s cold at all it’s quickly swept away as he’s fucked on his living room floor. Hands releasing his in favor of having one around his waist, keeping him close, Feliciano using the other one to hold himself up as Arthur winds his arms around the man’s neck and shoulders, opening his eyes and lifting his head to look into Feliciano’s. They rock together, Arthur’s tongue peeking out to wet his lips onto to have it followed by Feliciano, the two sharing a searing kiss as the pace is picked up. The taller of the two breaking the kiss to let head hang, chasing their release, phrases in Italian pouring from his lips. 

_“Sie bello._

_Ti appartengo._

_Sei il mio incantesimo._

_Sei un dono._

_Non posso vivere senza di te._

_Ho un debole per te._

_Sono innamorato.”_

He’ll ask for translations later, when he’s not gripping the man’s hair tight for the second time this night, curses being spat out between gritted teeth as he trembles in that warm grasp. The stuttering, uneven rhythm of Feliciano’s hips signifying his end too. Warmth spreading from his core as they both go lax, Arthur closing his eyes as he catches his breath. Feliciano’s head in the crook of his neck, breath hot against damp skin as they collect themselves somewhat, chests heaving.  
“I… apologize. This was not the intention of my visit.”  
Arthur laughs, a lazy smile spreading across his face. “You won’t find any complaints from me.” He stretches languidly as he wrinkles his nose at the feeling of spend dripping from him as Feliciano pulls out. He’s loathe to move despite hating the sensation only to gasp, face growing red as he’s gently cleaned up with Feliciano’s discarded undershirt, the soft fabric still intense on his sensitive skin.  
“Shit. Warn a bloke, yeah?”  
“Ahaha~ Sorry, sorry~” 

Arthur, absolutely not moving even a little except to cross one leg over the other, watches as Feliciano tidies just a little before extinguishing the fireplace. Finally getting a good look at him, expanses of tan skin spattered with freckles and he honestly wouldn’t be surprised if the man tanned in the nude. From what he can recall that wasn’t an uncommon thing over there. And would explain the dusting of freckles across his lower back, just above his butt. The lack of tan lines is another telling sign of Felicano’s sunbathing habits. 

“Just so you know, a performance like that earns you the right to sleep in my bed with me.”  
The smile that earns him threatens to ignite the heat in his core once more but he couldn’t possibly go again just yet.  
“Truly an honor, Mr. Kirkland.”  
Arthur smiles, huffing out a small laugh.  
“Please, call me Arthur.”


End file.
